Page 3 of Claimed By the Pakhan

The man enters my hospital room, the black suit and tie suggesting he’s walked straight out of an important business meeting to visit me.

Who the hell is this?

“Sir,” begins the doctor. “Fia isn’t taking visitors at the moment.”

“I’m sure she can make an exception for her husband.” The handsome man peers over the doctor’s shoulder, his gaze stronger than any painkiller. “Isn’t that right, Fia?”

I stare at this impossible man before me, trying to work out if I’m hallucinating. The doctor is acknowledging his presence, which tells me this is real. Men this handsome are only supposed to exist in movies and books, but they apparently barge into hospital rooms without consent, too.

“Husband?” I try the word out loud.

The doctor flicks his gaze between us both.

“I signed in at reception,” says the man. He stands an entire foot taller than the doctor, his shoulders wide enough to cross over into the next state.

“You didn’t sign in at reception,” says the doctor. “Visiting hours aren’t for another?—”

“I’m here to see mywife,”says the man again, his voice scratching against the deepest part of his throat. He steps closer to the doctor, casting shadows over the man.

I watch the man, the heart rate monitor beeping frequently as I find the will to live. I certainly won’t find it looking at this man’s face, my body disconnecting from my head even more than before as I allow a stranger to turn me on.

This is so unlike me, wet between my legs from staring at someone I don’t even know. Personality is everything, and this guy appears to have a very bad one as he shoves the doctor straight into the wall, threatening him with a fist.

“Iwillspeak to my wife.”

I gasp, the monitor beeping rapidly, matching my erratic heart rate as my so-calledhusbandthreatens the doctor.

“Stop!” I screech, clenching my thighs together, really feeling the disconnect between my mind and body. Ten minutes ago, I was waking up from a coma. Now I’m wanting this perfect stranger to fuck me.

My memory needs to return, and fast. I’ll die if the rational side of my brain doesn’t return soon.

The doctor slips something from the lab coat, a device of some kind that must connect to security.

“Don’t,” I find myself blurting out. “He’s fine. My husband is upset, that’s all. Let me speak to him for ten minutes. He might help jog my memory.”

The handsome stranger throws the doctor off, flashing me a look.

“Okay,” says the doctor. “Ten minutes. If it’s any longer, I’ll call security.” He shoots the man one last look and shuts the door on the way out, leaving me alone with someone I know for afact I wouldn’t choose to marry.

His attitude sucks.

The man steps toward the bed, muscles flexing in his jaw. He sighs, running a hand through his gray streaked hair, tippedblack at the ends. He could get away with murder with hair like that. And with that body? Nobody in this city stands a chance.

The man wipes a hand across his face, exhaling a frustrated sigh. He looks down at me, his eyes somber, like he’s mourning me.

“You don’t remember me,” he mutters to himself, swiping his hand across his mouth.“Blyat.”After drowning in misery for another beat, he closes in, caging me between him and the bed. “You have to remember me, Fia.”

“Take your frustration out on the driver who hit me,” I say, leaning back into the bed, afraid of what I might do if he gets any closer.

His hot breath bristles my neck and his eyes dart all over my face, his gaze powerful enough to leave marks.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters to himself again, taking a step back to stare at my belly. A muscle ticks in his jaw again. And then he’s inviting himself to touch my stomach.

“Hey! Hands off!” I swat him off, crawling up the bed as far as these wires let me. “You don’t get to fucking touch me. Stand over there and help me fill in the gaps.”

“I’m your husband, Fia.”

“Yeah, like you keep saying.” I turn away from the man, searching for the will to live on the floor since I’m having no luck with the man.